


Mercy

by aurorasparrow (moonofmylife88)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AryaxGendry Week, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 16:00:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7647457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonofmylife88/pseuds/aurorasparrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AxG Week - Response to Prompt 5: Laughter (with a dark-ish-not-really twist - might be an unpleasant read only if you love Cersei, but who does?)</p><p>AU - Set in King's Landing - Post ADWD/Season6 both</p><p>Cersei's never been more certain of her crown than now, but she was never good at remembering that some enemies are more formidable than they seem. Don't want to give too much away, but hoping to see something like this in Season 7 and either Winds of Winter or A Dream of Spring...sort of a Gendry/Arya v. Cersei confrontation thing</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mercy

“...Cersei of the House Lannister, the First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, does hereby sentence you to death for your pernicious crimes of slander and libel against our most generous and beautiful monarch.”

Qyburn’s voice echoed loudly throughout the throne room as he read the announcement from the long scroll of parchment. Cersei smiled satisfactorily as her eyes found the man being sentenced. He was trembling and thrashing and yelling as the gaoler led him to the dungeons to await his death in the morning.

Another group of prisoners was led forward. A ragtag group of nine or so, all in shabby dirt-stained cloaks. As each of the men were hanging their heads down and staring at the floor, their filthy, matted hair covered their ratty little faces. Only the one who seemed the leader, the large, tall one, front and center, wore his hood over his head.

“State their crimes.” Cersei prided herself on her queenly voice she reserved specifically for the throne room. No king before her had ever sounded so regal, not Aerys, not one Aegon and certainly not Robert. She held a hand out delicately, took the gold goblet studded with rubies from her handmaid and sipped the sweet, crisp wine.

Qyburn was clearing his throat to heed her command when a sudden laugh rang out, loud and deep and throaty from amongst the group of men. Cersei felt her throat drop into her stomach. She knew that laugh.

“ _Our_ crimes?” The man spoke in clear amusement and disgust. Cersei flinched. She knew that voice.

Several other laughs joined the first as the men in the condemned group began looking up at her, with amusement, hate and revulsion in their eyes all at once. The man she’d taken as the leader of the group had stood suddenly; he was the one who’d laughed first, who had spoken.

The gaoler in the yellow cloak, who seemed to be one of them, did nothing to stop him as the man threw his hood back. Terror gripped Cersei’s senses, and the goblet fell from her hands to the floor, staining her gown and that of her handmaid with bright red Dornish wine. Robert had finally come back to murder her.

Robert was beautiful again and despite her loathing for who he’d become and her fear at his reappearance, Cersei found herself studying that chiseled, handsome face with pleasure.

“No,” she breathed. “You’re dead.” Her voice was weak, she realized. Too weak. “You’re dead!” She screeched. “Seize him!” She stood on shaky knees, pointing her finger in condemnation at the specter.

No one moved to do so. Only Qyburn shifted uncomfortably where he stood, his eyes on the two Kingsguard at the base of the stairs who stood stock still. In fact, they didn’t even look like they were breathing. Suddenly both keeled over, and Cersei could see thin trickles of blood running from beneath their bodies.

Robert laughed again. He ignored Cersei’s outburst as she fell back weakly onto the throne, feeling one the blades cut into her arm where she rested it. “ _We’re_ not here to be tried, Cersei of House Lannister.” To her rage, he’d omitted her title. The man spoke with a conviction she could not ever remember hearing in Robert’s voice, and she realized it wasn’t him after all. Nor was it Renly. That she didn’t know who this was or who this could be scared Cersei even more.

“We’re here to try _you_ for _your_ crimes, my lady.”

“Your Grace.” Qyburn interrupted unnecessarily. Adherence to courtesies were the least of their problems at the moment.

“You are going to suffer painfully for your insolence, bastard.” Cersei spit through gritted teeth. For she knew now that this had to be one of them. They’d lied to her. Not all the bastards were dead. They would pay for this, she thought. But first, she’d have to rid herself of the rabble.

The other ragged men were rising as well, pulling long blades from their cloaks. One of the men revealed a bow and quiver of arrows from behind his back. The gaoler revealed an axe. Cersei looked in terror at the far doors. She should have called a full court today, and her household guards would have been in attendance.

The man leading the outlaw-like group laughed again. It was a pleasant but threatening sound. He pulled his own weapon out from under his cloak, a large, heavy war hammer. “No, Lannister, _you_ are.”

The men spread out throughout the throne room. There had been some lords and a few ladies in attendance at court who’d tried to flee when the weapons had come out, but the outlaws had rounded the small group of them up against the far wall.

“Thoros,” the man in charge spoke pleasantly, resting his hammer against his thigh casually. “Will you do us the honor of listing her grace’s charges?” Though the man used the appropriate courtesy this time, he said it mockingly. Cersei felt her handmaid shift at her side and knew she must be worried too. Surely this band out criminals wouldn’t spare the girl or anyone else, least of all Cersei.

“Gladly, Ser Gendry.” The man speaking slipped out from behind one of the large columns lining the throne room.

“You.” Cersei growled in his direction. The fat red-headed priest who’d abandoned her court for that pig who’d been sitting her throne.

Thoros gave a mocking bow. “Me. That’s a popular reaction towards me these days.” He laughed and the rest of the band joined in shortly. “Your crimes, Cersei of the House Lannister, are...” He cleared his throat, though he didn’t read from a piece of parchment like Qyburn. “The murders of our good King Robert Baratheon, the first of his name, and his most noble hand and friend Lord Eddard Stark. The murders of our King in the North Robb Stark and his mother Lady Catelyn Stark. The murders of at least ten of our King Robert’s natural born children. Adultery. Incest. And, among a great deal of other hateful things, unrightfully sitting your bony little arse on that blasted throne.”

Thoros looked back at the man he named a knight, Gendry.

Gendry was glaring up at her, his eyes flashing. “How do you plead, Lannister?” He nearly snapped in her direction.

Cersei shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She was just waiting for the throne room doors to be thrown open. For her rescue by the other Kingsguard, the City Watch or her household guard. The man, Gendry, saw where she was looking, and he laughed that arrogant laugh once more.

“I wouldn’t be pinning my hopes on anyone coming to save you, Lannister. There’s no one left. The city is ours.”

Cersei felt flashes of cold and heat, in turn, pass through her body. He was wrong. He was lying. Of course he was. He was a bastard.

Finally and suddenly, one of the doors to the room was thrown open. And Cersei felt her heart soar. It wasn’t her best, Gregor Clegane, but it was the next best thing’s brother, Sandor Clegane. Of course he’d fled back at the Blackwater, but now he was back, and he could take them all down, armed or not.

Cersei’s superior smile returned to her face, as she met the bright blue eyes of the knight with her own cold green ones. He didn’t seem to realize what fate he’d befallen by presuming to start a rebellion in her throne room.

The Hound strode swiftly through the throne room, his longsword in hand, and Cersei just knew he was about to take the impudent bastard’s head off with it. Surely. Cersei was satisfied to see the Hound roughly shove the bastard but unpleased to see that didn’t faze the knight whatsoever; he kept his feet planted firmly and his eyes trained on her.

“You left me to fight that monster alone,” Clegane accused with a biting tone.

Ser Gendry barely blinked. “That was your wish. You’re alive aren’t you?”

And Cersei couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Or seeing. The knight tore his gaze from the iron throne to look to the Hound for a quick moment, and they both burst out laughing. At her side, Cersei’s handmaid fidgeted again in place.

“No.” Cersei whispered unbelievingly. “No!” She shouted. “Seize him, dog! Seize him!”

The Hound glared fiercely up at her then spat a huge glob of blood towards her that landed at her feet in the puddle of wine. “Fuck you.” He retorted simply before stepping back to stand in support of the bastard knight.

“Gregor!” Cersei shrieked suddenly, more frightened than she’d been in her entire life. “Gregor!” She shrieked again, calling for the Moutain, her strongest and most loyal guard.

Suddenly it was the Hound’s laughter filling up the throne room and likely echoing throughout the halls of her castle.

The Hound spat again. “He’s dead. You can see him when you die too, though.” The Hound assured her.

“How dare you!” The lion in Cersei awoke and she leapt forward off the throne, grasping her dress in her hands so tightly her hands turned pale white. “I am the Queen! I am the Queen!”

Another laugh suddenly, but it shocked Cersei to her core, as it came from behind her now and in the tone of a woman. Her face as pale as her hands, Cersei turned swiftly to see her very own handmaid holding a hand over her mouth, trying to repress her laughter.

“You little bitch! You dare laugh at me?!” Cersei strode forward and picked up her goblet. She meant to strike the girl with it, but before she could, several things happened.

An arrow came flying within an inch of her head, ricocheting off the throne and landing harmlessly at the bottom of the stairs. “Good one, Anguy,” someone said.

Ser Gendry, in a tone of amusement, said, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

And the girl herself had pulled a long, thin sword from within her heavily layered dress. But on her face she wore a sly smile.

Cersei let the goblet fall from her hands.

“You will pay. You will all pay!” She shrieked. Suddenly she noticed Qyburn was nowhere to be seen. He’d disappeared. Where? How? Cersei thought she was going mad.

“No.” The girl spoke now. “We already have. And it’s your turn.”

Cersei blinked in surprise. This wasn’t the meek, scared voice of the stupid little handmaid she was used to, though the girl’s face was the same.

“Who are you?” Cersei’s voice was hoarse when she spoke.

The girl reached a hand up. Thinking the girl meant to strike her, Cersei flinched and missed the moment when the face of the girl changed.

Cersei’s eyes bulged again, and her heart was racing. Another ghost returned to haunt her, though she’d never done Lyanna Stark herself any harm.

“My name is Arya of House Stark,” Lyanna, who wasn’t Lyanna, declared. “We’re here to see you answer for your crimes.”

“No.” Cersei whispered again. “You died! You were dead!”

“Yes.” The girl affirmed simply. “I was dead and now I’m not. Seems to be happening a lot these days, doesn’t it?”

All the criminals in the room, the priest, the knight, the bowman, the Hound, and the girl laughed at her quip.

The smile dropped suddenly from the girl’s face after a moment. She looked past Cersei toward the priest. “You forgot a charge.” She said, her voice bitter. Her dark gray eyes burned into Cersei’s when she said, “She killed Lady too.”

“How do you plead?” The knight’s voice was colder than ice. The thrice damned Stark girl had raised the sword to Cersei’s chest.

“ _I_ am the Queen. I will not answer to _you_.” Suddenly the point of the needle-like sword was poking into her bosom.

“You _will_. One way or another. How. Do. You. Plead.” The girl spoke through bared teeth, sounding out each word of the question separately.

“If no answer is spoken,” the knight’s voice was a threat, “you will be deemed guilty.”

Cersei whipped around, her eyes searching the room, for anyone to help her, for a friend, anything. But there was none to be had. Her most loyal companion Qyburn, even, had deserted her. That was the moment when Cersei realized she had lost. She began to cry then, thinking her last chance might be pity. Not from the annoying young woman with the sword to be sure. But the men at least might pity a beautiful weeping woman.

“That’s not an answer,” Ser Gendry said coldly. He looked behind Cersei at the girl. “Would you like the honor, my love, or should I?”

Cersei blinked at that. My love? A Stark and a Baratheon. She almost laughed out loud herself. At fate. Robert and Lyanna ended up together after all; it’d been what he’d always wanted. This match would have pleased the true Robert to no end. His son and his blasted best friend’s daughter.

“The honor will be mine, my love.” The girl behind Cersei responded breathily, and a strong hand on Cersei’s shoulder turned her to face the girl.

“But first,” the girl’s voice was a threat too. “What do you have to say for what you’ve done, Cersei?” The bitch’s audacity at using her first name. Cersei could have screamed but she bit her lip to keep silent. “For what you’ve done to my family. To my father, to my lady mother, to Robb,” Here the girl’s voice broke, and Cersei almost smirked, but didn’t want to tempt the girl’s sword hand. “To Lady.” The girl finished.

“What?” Cersei couldn’t help herself. “Am I being tried for the death of a _dog_?” She spat out.

Suddenly, a cut burned across her cheek. The stupid bitch had cut her. Cersei yelled in rage and shoved the girl as hard as she could, ignoring where the point of the girl’s sword cut into her shoulder. The girl had to take steps backward to avoid falling. Though the girl was laughing at the shove, which only enraged Cersei more, there was a roar from behind her. Suddenly a strong, large hand was pulling Cersei back roughly and she fell three steps down, landing painfully on her backside.

“You will _not_ touch my wife.” The knight roared, his hammer lifted high over his head.

Cersei could almost feel the head of the hammer crashing through her skull. “Mercy!” She squeaked, unable to stop the word from pouring out of her mouth. “Mercy, please!”

The girl came from behind the knight and placed her hand gently on his forearm so he lowered the hammer. He stepped to the side, his glower turning into a loving glance when he looked at the Stark girl’s face. The girl stepped forward, her sword back in her belt. She crouched down so she was almost at Cersei’s eye level.

“Mercy?” The Stark girl tilted her head, repeating the word as if she was just learning it. “Mercy.” She repeated again. “That’s what you gave my father, isn’t’ it? Mercy?”

Cersei trembled on the floor. She could feel her knee bleeding from where she’d landed on it before falling down the steps. The cut on her face was oozing blood too. Cersei swallowed. “Please.” She said weakly. “Mercy. My children. They’re all gone. They’re all dead.” She realized then that she’d tried making the realm her child too, but like the rest of her golden-headed beauties, it had been taken away from her too and too soon. “I want to be with them.” She pleaded. “Mercy.” Again.

Not a sliver of emotion passed over the girl’s face as she stared down at Cersei. Then she was looking up at the knight. “Mercy.” She said again. “I don’t think she deserves that.” The girl took a deep breath. “She killed my father and your father and your siblings and mine.”

The knight shook his head. “No, she doesn’t deserve it.”

“No,” the girl repeated in confirmation. “She won’t have it then.”

Cersei blinked in shock when instead of stabbing her through with her sword, the girl raised a hand to the knight who pulled the girl to her feet.

All around the throne room, the outlaws began to disperse toward the doors. The knight held the girl to his side, and in turn, the girl swung an arm around his waist, leaning her head into his chest as they walked down the steps and away from Cersei.

She tried to speak but couldn’t, then tried again. “What- What’s to happen to me?” And at that moment, Cersei hated herself. With a passion. For how weak she must look cowering on the ground. For how weak her voice sounded.

Without breaking stride, the girl turned her head to answer. “That’s not for us to decide.” She said simply.

Slowly the room emptied until Cersei found herself alone. She stood slowly on quivering legs, inspecting her wounds carefully. She didn’t understand what was happening.

Then she heard the door to the throne room snap shut. Cersei jumped in fear and looked up quickly to see who it was.

“Sister.”

Her brother looked as handsome as he ever had, all golden and strong. Even his hand didn’t detract from his beauty. Cersei wanted to feel relieved, wanted to believe her salvation had just arrived. But the look in Jaime's eyes was deadly. In his good hand, he held the sword their father had given Cersei’s son. Widow’s Wail.

And Cersei thought she just might get her mercy after all.


End file.
